Secrets to Enemies
by AnotherAvenger
Summary: Bruce Banner/Tony Stark high school AU. Some influence from the comics and movies. It's 1986. Bruce Banner is sixteen years old and life has been awful. When Anthony Stark transfers to Bruce's school, things go from bad to worse. Bruce cannot stand Tony Stark and his antics but the more he tries to avoid him, the more often unavoidable Tony is. (I'm terrible at summaries)
1. Chapter 1

Bruce Banner was poorer than poor. He didn't have two pennies to rub together. His clothes were hand-me-downs and ragged, giving him a dirty appearance even though he really wasn't. His dark, overgrown, untamable hair fell in wild curls about his head and into his brown eyes. His black-rimmed, square glasses were too large for his face and one of the lenses had a medium sized crack running through the center which was the result of being pushed down by a group of kids a few months earlier because he was in their way. He was an average height for a sixteen year old boy—five feet and six inches to be exact. There was one word to describe Bruce Banner's overall appearance: messy.

Bruce, who's actual name was Robert, preferred to go by his middle name simply because he liked it better. Only his mother had ever called him Robert and since she was gone, Bruce thought that the name along with his handful of happy memories should die out with her.

Bruce's mother Rebecca had happily married her collage sweetheart Brian Banner at a ripe, young age. When he was a toddler, Bruce had been left with a nanny (because his father could not stand being around him) who did not like children and had physically abused him whenever he had ever so slightly stepped out of line. One Christmas morning, at the early age of four, Bruce had shown a level of intelligence that was beyond the mental capacity of any other child that was within five years of his age. Normally, a parent would be proud of this. Not Brian Banner. Seeing his son's intellectual capability, Brian went completely haywire for the first—but certainly not the last—time. Bruce had been almost killed by his deranged father a few times, but Rebecca always intervened. Brian beat her, too. And so, the years of senseless physical and mental abuse began.

For years Brian Banner called his son a monster, a mutant, evil. Finally, Rebecca had had enough and she tried to escape with Bruce. Unfortunately, Brain had caught them and in his rage, murdered Rebecca while Bruce stood frozen and helpless to watch. Brian was later arrested and sent to a mental facility where he currently resided.

It was now 1986, and since his parents were no longer able to be active member in his life, Bruce lived with his aunt, Susan Banner—his father Brian's sister—in an old, rickety house that was adorned with chipped white paint and pointless shutters that were meant only for decoration. The house was located in an avoided section of New York City in the burrow of the Bronx. The neighborhood had 'sketchy' written all over it. Aunt Susan was stuck with the task of raising Bruce, and even though she claimed that she didn't mind, Bruce knew for a fact that she would be much better off without him.

His aunt had recently gone through a rocky divorce and she worked so hard, undergoing the pressure of two or three jobs at a time just to make ends meet. Bruce rarely saw her because of the hectic schedule she was burdened with. He was basically alone.

His presence was like a curse, pulling everyone and everything down with him into the rubble of misfortune and bad luck.

Bruce told no one about his tragic past and would like to keep it that way. He was a genius but at the same time also very self-conscious and reserved—he wasn't shy, he just did not like conversing with people. He lived most of his life inside of his own head. He was considered by his peers to be an odd and awkward outcast. Bruce could not help agreeing with them.

All of these things factored into the reason why Bruce had absolutely no friends—except for the occasional chats with Frederick Peirce who was a fellow classmate and not so popular himself (although he had around five-times the amount of friends Bruce had) but Bruce did not give Frederick the 'friend' title because he knew Fred only spoke to him out of pity.

A bird hawked loudly outside Bruce's grimy bedroom window on a particularly warm March morning, dragging Bruce from a dull dream that he would not remember. After coming to, he checked his cheap plastic wristwatch. The dim green glowing numbers read 5:42 AM. It was time to get up.

The rusty old bed-springs creaked as Bruce sat up on his mattress, swinging his legs so that his feet touched the wooden floorboards. He took a moment to scratch his hairy chest and yawn. Then he hurried to the bathroom in his boxers and brushed his teeth without using any water—he tried to conserve as much as possible, not wanting to raise his Aunt Susan's expenses any higher than they already were.

Bruce bathed only twice a week at home, the rest of the time he spent in his high school gym's locker room showers whenever they were empty and he could get away with sneaking in and out unnoticed. It's not that Aunt Susan had rules about bathing, in fact she had never once told Bruce that he could not use water, but Bruce felt it best to do everything in his power to lessen the burden upon his aunt.

Brushing his curls away from his forehead with his sweaty fingers, Bruce pulled on a pair of faded jeans, a baggy t-shirt that hung from his body, and muddy generic-brand sneakers. He slung his well-used purple backpack over his shoulder and jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and out through the bulky front door.

On the subway, Bruce had to stand because the early-risers and commuters had filled all of the seats. This did not stop Bruce from dozing off. He was always tired these days and the boy could fall asleep literally anywhere. He jerked awake when someone fell into him, causing him to hit his head on the metal bar that he was clinging to for support. He arrived to school just in time for homeroom, as usual.

Bruce was an awkward sophomore, never fitting in but not really trying to either. He seemed to be invisible to the people around him, even the teachers. He walked the halls alone, head down and avoiding all human contact, listening to the laughter and talk that was so distant to his ears. While Bruce was number one in his class, he wouldn't call himself the ideal student. His anxiety often kept him from raising his hand and he was easily ticked off—a lot of things annoyed him. The only teacher who understood Bruce was Mr. Dile, his chemistry teacher. Mr. Dile was a younger man with an easygoing personality and he was one of those cool teachers that you wanted to be friends with but couldn't because, well he's your teacher. Mr. Dile would ask the class challenging questions, and when nobody knew or cared to answer, he would nod to Bruce and Bruce would answer the questions at lightning-fast speed, always correctly.

In first period English, Bruce found himself sitting alone at the table near the window in the front of the room, which was typical. Only nerds wanted to sit in the first row and nobody wanted to sit next to Bruce, so while the rest of the row was filled, the seat next to him was always empty. Class was about twenty minutes in when the door swung open, interrupting Mr. Smalls mid-speech. In stepped a boy whom Bruce had never seen before.

He was about Bruce's height, lanky, with dark neatly brushed hair and brown eyes that screamed ' _I'm better than you!_ ', cocky. The kid strode into the room as if he owned the place and Bruce could tell he came from wealth.

His shirt appeared new and it fitted him nicely, revealing thin but toned arms. His jeans were the designer kind that Bruce could never even dream of being able to afford, and he wore a real gold watch around his wrist. An arrogant smile twisted his otherwise attractive features. Already, Bruce hated him.

"Hello? Can I help you young man? Mr. Smalls asked, clearly annoyed that this kid had interrupted his speech about why Hamlet was most certainly mad.

"I'm Tony Stark," he said with a confidence that Bruce would never have.

Every person in the room—even Mr. Smalls, but not Bruce—let out an audible gasp, their mouths dumbly hanging open and all of the girls giggled.

By their reactions, Bruce came to the conclusion that Tony must be the son of the well-known billionaire Howard Stark. Howard was the head of Stark Industries which built weapons for the military and created gadgets of the future.

Being a science nerd, of course Bruce knew plenty about Howard Stark who had done many revolutionary things, but the most well-known being concocting the Super Serum that Steve Rogers (a.k.a. Captain America) had been administered. _But what the hell is so special about this kid?_ Bruce thought, peering around at the admirable expressions.

"Howard S-Stark's s-son?" Mr. Smalls stuttered, all of his previous annoyance vanished.

He spread his arms open wide, "the one and only." Tony Stark smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.

"I-I had heard about your family relocating to New York, but I had never dreamed of having Howard Stark's son in my classroom," Mr. Smalls rambled. Even he was fanatical. Bruce didn't get it.

"Consider it a privilege," Stark said with pure arrogance.

That was no way to speak to a teacher and if anyone else had done it they would be reprimanded, but Mr. Smalls was in complete awe. Bruce could not believe this.

"Well. Mr. Stark, I do consider it a great pleasure." Mr. Smalls offered him a hand and they shook. "Let's see…" Mr. Smalls searched for a vacant seat but the only one was next to Bruce. Mr. Smalls' eyes fell on him with such resentment that Bruce felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. "I am sorry, but you will have to sit there—at least for today," he pointed to the empty space beside Bruce.

Stark strode over and plopped down, leaning backward and extending his arms behind his head, his ankles crossing underneath the table. The smell of his cologne was sweet but too strong. Bruce scooted as far away from Stark as the table allowed and inhaled fresh air from the open window. He already felt like crap and he did not want to get a headache.

Never once did Stark so much as glance in Bruce's direction which was perfectly fine with Bruce because he had no desire to speak with Mr. Tony 'I'm so great' Stark. He disliked Tony Stark and his unjustified arrogance.

Stark did, however, manage to distract the classroom's entire female population—in particular Stella Stread whom he seemed to take a liking to—by turning his head to wink at them every few minutes.

By the end of the class period, Bruce found himself trying to keep a grip on his boiling temper by clenching his fists so hard against his thick thighs that his fingers went numb. As soon as the changing bell rang, Bruce bounded past Stark and into the hallway, taking deep breaths as he journeyed to his next class.

Much to his disappointment, Stark was in four out of his five period before and including lunch. Luckily (if you can even call it that) he sat nowhere near Bruce in any other class.

At lunch, Bruce usually sat alone at the table in the back corner of the cafeteria where the light never seemed to reach. It was kind of creepy of him to sit in the shadows, Bruce had to admit, but none of the other tables were empty. He never had much money so that meant he never had lunch, so he usually read whatever book he was renting from the library or slept. Today however, Bruce found himself unable to relax. His temper consistently rose a notch every time Stark showed up.

It would be different if Tony Stark were a genuine and friendly person, but he was the complete opposite, the exact kind of person Bruce had a strong disliking for. Every class Bruce had with him, Stark had acted superior to every other person—even the teacher—while also managing to distract every female, and most of the males as well. And now, at lunch, practically everyone was scrambling to become acquainted with the fabulous Tony Stark.

Sure, Howard had invented many helpful tools and weapons, but as far as Bruce was concerned, Tony himself had never accomplished anything of major importance. Tony's claim to fame was his father and that was the only reason people wanted to get to know him. And there Tony was, absorbing the attention like a newly bought sponge. It made Bruce's blood run hot.

Bruce watched as Stark was offered a seat (and accepted the offer) with a group of popular kids which included another guy that Bruce was not too fond of named Jake Dickerson. Dickerson was a star player on the school's baseball and football teams. Everybody loved him, but to Bruce he was just another stuck-up asshole who was better to avoid. It was fitting that he and Stark would become buddies. Bruce wanted to gag himself with a spoon.

Bruce was fortunate enough to be free of Anthony in his sixth and seventh period classes and was looking forward to enjoying a Stark-free eighth period chemistry class, as well. This did not happen of course. Stark showed up eleven minutes late and smoothly scooted into a seat next to a girl (of course) at the very back of the room. Mr. Dile was supervising Daniel Henry who was copying the periodic table to the chalkboard off of pure memory—and was now stumped and staring at the board going "um" in a repeated drone of idiocy. This was a task in which always took place during the start of class and in which every student had to partake in at least once for a grade. Mr. Dile most likely noticed the brief interruption but chose to ignore Stark's unexplained lateness.

By this point, the entire school knew of Tony Stark's presence and that included all of the teachers. Bruce had overheard a few discussing Tony in hushed voices as he had walked by the teacher lounge on his was to lunch. Bruce knew Mr. Dile and he was ninety-four percent sure Mr. Dile would not fall into Stark's trap. Bruce hoped he was right.

After another four minutes of "um", Mr. Dile sighed and said, "Alright, Daniel, time's up." Daniel walked to his seat with slumped shoulders and a disappointed scowl.

"And, Anthony, I prefer that you be on time for my class," Mr. Dile turned to face Stark. "As you might have noticed, I'm not as old as your other teachers and therefore I am much more perceptive," Mr. Dile tapped his brain and winked at Stark. "I am Mr. Brad Dile and I will be your chemistry teacher," Mr. Dile added.

The glaring look on Stark's face was that of brewing hatred. Bruce chuckled to himself, happy that Mr. Dile had put his foot down. Tony Stark would not be receiving any star treatment here.

The class continued on as it usually did with Mr. Dile teaching his daily lesson, but this time with a faint murmur of conversation that could only be coming from Stark.

Finally Mr. Dile had enough. "Excuse me, Anthony," he spoke up, "we do not talk while the teacher is speaking."

"Oh, is that what you're doing?" Stark mocked.

"Yes, Anthony, and if you do not pay attention and listen, I will be forced to move your seat."

Surprisingly to Bruce, Stark obeyed.

With only five minutes left in the final period, Mr. Dile routinely began asking general knowledge—or at least that's what they were to Bruce—questions. Bruce answered a few correctly and without interruption. He grinned.

Mr. Dile smiled at the class, "who can tell me what the most radioactive element is?"

Mr. Dile nodded to Bruce and he proudly opened his mouth to speak—this was an easy one—but before he could—

"Polonium," Stark declared with a yawn.

The _one_ class, _the one class_ in which Bruce actually felt comfortable and Tony Stark was attempting to steal that from him.

"Anthony, raise your hand," Mr. Dile instructed.

"Well, _Mister Brad Dile_ ," Stark sarcastically sneered, "why does _he_ get to call out?" His finger pointed to Bruce, accusatory.

"I always give Bruce permission with the nod of my head before he answers my questions," Mr. Dile responded calmly, not reacting to Stark's acerbity. Stark crossed his arms like a pouting toddler.

Mr. Dile continued, "Dangerous elements?"

He nodded to Bruce.

"Hydrogen."

"Why is that?" Mr. Dile shot him a quizzical look.

"Hydrogen is highly flammable, take the Hindenburg for example. Also, hydrogen's ion is what essentially gives acids their properties, and without hydrogen they would be useless. So, possessing extreme flammable qualities and as the basic ingredient in every acid, I conclude that hydrogen is very dangerous." Bruce stated all of this with witty confidence and reciprocated Mr. Dile's grin.

"Okay, but Mercury is at least a hundred times more dangerous," Stark stated, his irritated tone cutting through Bruce's temporary moment of glory. "The skin is able to absorb mercury. It is poisonous. It can be airborne. It can be in the food we eat, especially seafood because it always ends up in seas or lakes when it is evaporated. Continuous contact with mercury can cause serious and irreversible neurological problems such as dementia."

"Plutonium is even more of a threat," Bruce began before Mr. Dile had the chance to speak, hoping Stark would recognize the challenge in his voice. "Unlike any of the other naturally occurring radionuclides known to man, plutonium gives off alpha, beta _and_ gamma radiation. Not only is it one of the most radioactive of the elements—besides polonium, of course— it is also toxic. Exposure through the nasal region especially, estimates that 500 grams of plutonium dust released into the air would have the ability to kill nearly 2 million people. It is used as the casing for nuclear weapons."

"Caesium often spontaneously explodes"—

Bruce snorted, "Arsenic is definitely more dangerous than that! Now chromium—"

"—Ha!" Stark shot back, "chromium my ass! Even lead is more threat"—

"—Beryllium is way"—

"—Fluorine, now that's"—

"Boys!" Mr. Dile shouted. "Class is over." Bruce and Tony were cut short, and they were both red-faced, leaning forward, and puffing for air. The final bell had apparently rung and the rest of the students were exiting the classroom, all slightly amused but vastly confused by the fiery scientific debate.

Stark snapped back into his usual cocky self and strode boldly from the room without a backwards glance at Bruce or Mr. Dile. Bruce gathered his things, last student in the classroom as usual.

"It looks like you have some competition," Mr. Dile said, nodding his head in the direction Stark had disappeared.

Bruce glowered. Tony Stark would not steal his thunder. Being number one in his class was the only successful thing Bruce had ever done, and the only thing in his life which he took pride in. Stark couldn't ruin that, he just couldn't.

"Not a chance," Bruce said with determination, "not a chance."

Two weeks passed in much the same way as that first day. Stark paraded around, forming his own posse, pretending Bruce did not exist until eighth period chemistry class where the two went at it like pit bulls in a ring fight.

Though Bruce still possessed a strong disliking for Anthony Stark, he chose to ignore him rather than be consumed with hatred. Because of this decision, Bruce no longer became irritated with Stark's pompous character, rather he had learned not to dwell on Stark at all (when it was possible), which helped with his nerves.

So, everything remained the same and Bruce Banner and Tony Stark acted as if the other were invisible excluding the time they spent bickering intellectually during Mr. Dile's class, until the Friday at the end of Tony's second week.

It was after eighth period and Bruce stood alone by his locker, sorting through his books and deciding which ones he would need for the homework he'd been assigned to do over the weekend, and shoving the rest back into his untidy locker.

"You!" a loud and confident voice yelled from nearby behind him. Bruce turned to see Anthony Stark looking and pointing directly at him. Why the hell would Stark want to talk to him?

Bruce raised his eyebrows in subtle surprise as Stark broke free from his mob of cronies and sauntered over to him.

"Party tonight, seven-thirty, my place." Tony stated with such declaration it left Bruce both shocked and confused.

"Why are you telling me this?" Bruce prompted, trying to sound tough in order to show he would not tolerate Stark messing with him.

"I'm setting a record. The entire school is going to be there. Totally bitchin'. That means you're coming too."

"What if I refuse?" Bruce taunted.

"What's the matter? Too scared to go to your first party? Or too afraid you'll be the unwanted and disregarded outcast there, too" Stark was quick in his reply, ruthless.

"No," Bruce played along, keeping up with Stark, "too bothered to endure spending even more forced time with you."

"Trust me, I wouldn't be caught dead socializing with you if not necessary," Stark sneered. "It's not like you have anything better to do."

Stark was right about that—Bruce did not have anything better to do. Aunt Susan hadn't been able to pay the electric bill on time (again) so their electricity had been shut off yesterday, and that meant no TV to pass the time for Bruce. Bruce shrugged. He did not want to go to Stark's party but on the other hand parties meant people and people meant food, so to Bruce the party was the next best option.

"Fair enough," Bruce nodded, keeping his face clear of all emotion and his body steady and tense to show Stark that he was not a wimpy loser.

Stark nodded back and handed Bruce a torn piece of paper with his address written across it in an elegant cursive scrawl. Stark rejoined his buddies who were waiting for him by the leaky drinking fountain and Bruce slammed his locker shut, prepared to make his journey home and get ready for this party.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 6:15 and Bruce still wasn't ready. The only party he'd ever been to was in the second grade and Bruce was only invited because the entire class was. Bruce knew a hell of a lot but when it came to the topic of high school parties, he had to admit his knowledge was scarce.

Bruce only owned one tennis shirt. It was yellow and a bit scruffy looking but it would have to do. As for pants, he decided to wear the same jeans he wore to school earlier—they were jeans, who would notice? Also he didn't have another clean pair.

Bruce stood in the bathroom, appraising himself resentfully in the mirror. He combed his hair (with his fingers because using a hairbrush would make his thick curls frizzy), brushed his teeth, and popped the collar of his shirt like all the other kids did. Bruce thought he looked dumb.

Bruce did not like the way he looked one bit. The shirt was too loose and whereas the majority of the other boys would be wearing gold chains, his only accessory was his plastic wristwatch. But, Bruce had learned at a young age that it was better to blend in than to stick out.

Bruce didn't know when his aunt would arrive home but he knew it would probably be late—she was working overtime to pay the overdue bills. Once, Bruce had casually brought up the idea of him getting a job to help pay for their living expenses, but Aunt Susan had shot down that idea as soon as he'd mentioned it.

"The only thing you should have to focus on is school, Bruce," she had told him in a final but fraught tone. Bruce tried to reason with her but she only became more irritated. After that, he let the subject go.

Bruce sighed, flicking off the flashlight he was using as a primary light source to see his way around the darkening house. He left, leaving the light by the doorway for his aunt and carefully locking the door on his way out.

According to the address on the crumbled piece of paper Tony had given Bruce, Stark Mansion was located in Manhattan and a pretty far walk from Bruce's home, so he decided it smart to take the subway. Bruce had to admit he was excited to be going to the very place where Howard Stark resided. However, he doubted Tony would dare throw a party if Howard were home. Stark wasn't _that_ bold.

He showed up a little after eight, fashionably late. The exterior (built from brick and marble) of the vast mansion was elegant and its beautiful landscaping layout was enough to make one forget they were still inside the grimy city. Not a peep could be heard coming from inside the house but maybe the celebration was being held in a special hall or something, the place was totally enough.

Looking up at the mansion, Bruce was stricken with a sudden sense of belittlement. The magnificent estate made Bruce feel small and tatty, even more than usual. He was apprehensive about entering, his throat swelling with familiar anxiety. He considered calling the whole thing off and instead booking it home where he could peacefully sleep without the worry of being judged or picked on. But his empty stomach rumbled and he needed to pee. Bruce took a deep breath, ignoring the tightening sensation in his throat, and marched along the winding stone pathway alongside the manicured lawn and trimmed bushes (which were a healthy green despite it being March) to the heavy-looking oak front doors.

He would only stay for an hour, swipe some food (for now and later), and make sure Stark caught sight of him at least once to ensure that he had indeed attended. The last thing he needed was for Stark to tease him for chickening out.

He pushed the doors open (they were heavy) and was instantly hit with the sound of loud rock 'n' roll music which he hadn't been able to hear outside. _Interesting_ , he thought, _the walls must be soundproof._ Guys and girls danced coolly or nodded heads to the beat, talking and laughing, each person holding either a can or a bottle of alcohol.

"Name," an automated voice came from his immediate right. Bruce turned and saw—to his amazement—a robot. It stood about four feet high and was a cross between C3PO and the red robot from the movie The Black Hole. "Name." It repeated itself.

"Um, Bruce Banner," he told it awkwardly. The robot made a horrible grinding noise and its metal hand snatched Bruce's the front of shirt, not letting go. As the grinding noise got louder, Bruce's cheeks got brighter. He attempted to free himself, tugging on his shirt as hard as he could without tearing it, but the hand refused to budge. People were beginning to stare. Bruce was beginning to panic. Had Bruce broken it? Some guy pointed at him. He was literally trapped.

The crowd separated for Stark who made his way lazily toward the screeching robot, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I have to say I'm surprised you showed up," Stark alleged. He punched in a security code on the robot's back which opened a hatch. The robot released its grip on Bruce, so abruptly that Bruce fell to the floor. Tony ignored this, reading from a paper that had printed from the machine. "Um is not a name, Robert."

"How the hell was I supposed to know how to talk to a robot?" Bruce was angry. He stood and adjusted his shirt, his hands curling into tight fists. The only good thing was since the screeching had ceased, the nosy bystanders had gone back to their music and drinking and were no longer interested in what was happening.

"I programmed it to recognize the first and last names of every student so I would have a checklist. I scanned the data from the school's personal files and copied it to the hard drive. All you had to do was state your name. It isn't that complicated," Stark replied, cocky.

Bruce scowled, anger and embarrassment brewing dangerously inside of him. "My name isn't Robert."

"According to the file, your name is Robert," Stark affirmed smugly. "Good thing I checked. I had no idea who the fuck you were."

"Whatever." Bruce who couldn't stand to be in Stark's presence for another second without actually exploding, pushed through the crowd, heading in the total opposite direction.

Bruce grabbed a bottle of beer, not intending on drinking it and took a seat in the empty corner of a fancy room that was not the kitchen but was abundant with delicious food. He'd never had a sip of alcohol in his life and seeing what the way it had made his father act, he had no desire. So, he would just hold it and pretend to drink. He would blend in.

About twenty minutes later, a group of drunk kids intruded, all gathering around the lengthy table in a loose circle. _Maybe they're going to perform some sort of satanic ritual_ , Bruce thought. Satanic worship was common these days and although Bruce had never actually come in contact with the stuff, he suspected some of his fellow classmates most likely did it to be cool. Bruce scooted closer, curious. To his disappointment nothing interesting was happening, it was only an empty bottle. Bruce had never played spin the bottle, nor did he plan on playing it tonight.

Bruce snatched handfuls of cookies (they were really good) and stuffed them in the pockets of his baggy jeans where they crumbled unnoticed by anyone but himself. He slowly started toward the exit, intending to find a bathroom on the way out—he'd held his urine long enough. Plus, Stark had entered the room, requesting to be next.

The bottle spun and landed on none other than Bruce Banner who had been standing quietly in the shadow of the doorway, just about to slip out. Bruce froze dead in his path, gripping his untouched bottle of beer by the neck as everybody turned to stare at the usually-invisible Bruce. The staring made Bruce highly uncomfortable, causing all normal coloring to immediately drain from Bruce's anxious face, leaving him as white as the wall beside him. Meanwhile, the girls who were clustered tightly around the mahogany table in hopes of being propitiously matched with Tony Stark let out a collective sigh of disappointment.

Stark glanced across the bottle at Bruce and snickered saying, "I'm not making out with a guy—especially not that guy!" which adorned the laughter of every female in the room. It was phrased as a crafty insult, but Bruce appreciated the comment. Good, Bruce had no aspiration to kiss Stark whatsoever.

"C'mon, Stark!" Jake Hawthorne taunted, egging Tony on. "Stop being such a pussy!"

"I prefer the female genitalia," Stark wiggled his fingers playfully and threw a wink in Addison Hale's direction. She nearly fainted. Ridiculous.

"You ain't touchin' his dinkydo!" Jake's words were slurred and loud. It was evident that he was completely wasted. "All ya gotta do is kiss him, Stark!" he howled.

Stark let out an overly exaggerated sigh, lifting and dropping his shoulders for extra effect. "Fine."

Bruce had been too uneasy with all the attention to speak up or make a run for it. And he was still frozen when Stark swaggered his way over to him saying, "Come here, beautiful!" Bruce glared, hoping to ward Stark off.

Stark seized Bruce roughly by the waist, pulling him closer. Everyone hooted with laughter. This was the closest Bruce had been with another person since his mother had died and he did not like the uncomfortable feeling it gave him. He hated physical contact with people and Aunt Susan respected that. He knew Stark was doing it for the laughs and that aggravated him even more. His entire body was on edge.

Bruce glowered at Stark, his eyes like piercing daggers. "Watch it, Stark," he hissed in a low undertone, clenching his jaw.

But Stark, who seemed to find this hilarious, held Bruce tighter, chuckling. Their hips were in contact and the scent of alcohol from Stark's breath and the musk of his cologne combined, claiming the fresh air as their own. Bruce wrinkled his nose, tugging away. Then, Stark unexpectedly smashed his lips sloppily to Bruce's.

Bruce was in shock—he had not actually anticipated for Stark to full-throttle make out with him. And Bruce hated Stark, hated his guts, but as their lips met, a warmness—a foreign feeling that Bruce had never before felt—came over him like a trance and he lost himself in the roughness of the kiss. The crowd cheered as Bruce and Tony carried on.

Tony finally comprehended what he was doing and pulled abruptly away from Bruce, shoving him slightly. For a split second, astonishment was written all over his face, then he averted his eyes and composed himself. Only Bruce seemed to notice his reaction.

Bruce escaped, retreating as quickly as he could as far away from the clatter of bottles as possible, weaving through long hallways and twisted staircases until he found himself in a secluded bathroom in an empty area of the Stark household. Flicking on the lights, Bruce saw black tiles, black countertops, and a—you guessed it—black shower curtain. The room was gloomy and looked like something you would find in a catalog, unrealistically expensive and immaculately clean. However, the color scheme of this room did not follow the design of the lightly shaded mansion.

It had been dark when Bruce had walked inside because he did not want anyone to catch sight of where he was, but by the all too familiar smell of sweet cologne and the ticking golden watch lying abandoned by the sink, Bruce realized that it must have been Tony's room he had unknowingly passed through.

Which meant that this was Stark's bathroom.

Bruce briefly considered shoving all seven of Stark's shiny toothbrushes—yes, he literally had seven perfectly new toothbrushes lined up beside his floss and mint-flavored mouthwash—up his ass, just to spite Tony. It would be the perfect payback for Stark being a total douche and embarrassing him in front of everybody. But, Bruce did not want to take the chance of Howard Stark somehow getting his hands on one of the brushes and unsuspectingly scrubbing Bruce's entire anal region all over the inside of his mouth. Bruce shuddered at the very thought. He may not like Tony but he was fond of Howard and his many impressive works.

Bruce took a piss, instant relief washing over him. With all that was going on, he hadn't realized the extent of how much he needed to release himself.

He decided to take a peek around the bedroom, purely curious, using the open bathroom door and a lamp as the source of light. Tony's room was spotless, just like the rest of the home. His silky blankets were folded neatly and tucked in at all the right places. The tan carpet that felt like what Bruce imagined walking on a cloud—if that were possible—would feel like had recently been vacuumed. And what Bruce thought most impressive: every surface of the room would past the finger-dust test.

The only indications that it was indeed Tony's would be the smell, of course, and the desk where his spare metallic parts and a few tools were placed along with the schoolbag that Bruce recognized as Stark's.

For the duration of the party, Bruce laid eyes on Stark only twice more. Once while he and Addison Young had their faces smashed together as they moved into an empty room, Tony's wandering hand making its way up her polka-dotted skirt as the other hand groped at her chest in an animalistic way. The second time when Tony emerged alone from the same room, tucking his shirt in and smoothing his hair neatly back into its proper place. When he had noticed Bruce watching him, he disappeared into the crowd and did not resurface for the rest of the evening.

Bruce was not entirely sure as to why he had been invited to this party. It wasn't like anybody had made the effort to speak to him, or even notice him for that matter—not that he had really wanted them to. It was a meaningless experience that consisted of Bruce standing off to the side and pretending to sip the same beer for three and a half hours.

Bruce, sleepy and fed up with being near gangs of flamboyant drunk people, decided it was time to head home. He was able to leave without drawing any attention, leaving his untouched bottle of beer on a table.

He walked through his front door at twelve after eleven, much later than he had formerly hypothesized. Nevertheless, Aunt Susan was not there. Bruce left the flashlight by the doorway, not bothering to use a light as he headed up the creaking stairs to his bedroom at the end of the hall. He kicked off his sneakers and laid on top of his blankets, staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

The truth was, Bruce hated himself. He knew that he was nothing of importance, a mere speck in a vast universe. It wasn't just the fact that he had come to believe what Brian had spouted about him for years, or that he was socially awkward and never truly fit in because he had a hard time relating to others and expressing his emotions in an outward way. No, it wasn't just that. Bruce despised himself because he was insecure in his own skin. On top of that, his mind was in constant conflict with itself and his temper only grew worse the more he matured. Bruce knew it was far from healthy, but he bottled all of his emotions in a desperate attempt to keep the people around him safe, especially his aunt who cared too much for her own good. The way he dealt with his issues had caused an even bigger problem: the creation of the Hulk, Bruce's alter ego whom he raged internal battles against on a daily basis. Bruce knew it was crazy and so he never told anyone. He would be sent to an asylum or possibly something much worse where scientists would run test on him, disregarding his human rights.

The Hulk had been invented by Bruce's subconscious, the memories and feelings that he had pushed so far from himself that he had been left with nothing but a buzzing numbness. It was a defense mechanism, forming after his mother had been murdered and his father sent away. When Bruce had refused therapy, not speaking for almost an entire year, the Hulk fed on his quiet vengefulness, evolving into something much stronger, making things much worse. The Hulk became not only an enemy that knew all of his strengths and weaknesses, but also an inseparable part of him, something he knew he would never be able to permanently part with. And so, he dealt with it as best he could because Bruce Banner's biggest fear was losing control. Bruce Banner's biggest fear was turning into his father.

This was also the reason he envied Stark with so much hatred. Tony Stark who everybody loved and adored. Tony Stark who was confident to the point of cockiness, who had absolutely no problems, who led a perfect fairytale life, who was considered normal. Bruce didn't know what had happened earlier that night but he could not deny he'd felt something irrevocably good while kissing Tony. He did not have much to compare it to—he had only kissed one girl his entire life and that was when he was a child. Still, nothing Bruce had ever felt compared to that euphoric sensation. Confused and drained, Bruce rolled over still fully clothed and fell into a deep sleep, concluding that Tony Stark couldn't be all that bad.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce cleaned the house for his aunt since she worked on the weekends. It was the least he could do to help out. He also spent an hour repairing the gas stove so that she would not have to spend the money that she did not have on a repair man who would surely rip her off. Other than that, Bruce did absolutely nothing over the weekend. As usual.

Bruce was used to it and it didn't really bother him, being alone in the creaky old house. It was nice to have peace and quiet. He slept through the majority of the weekend, anyway and by the time Sunday night rolled around, his mind suddenly became very aware that he and Tony Stark would be in close proximity the following day.

He felt nervous. He and Tony had kissed and yeah, it was only a lame party game but a bunch of his classmates had seen. Hopefully they had all been too drunk to remember.

However, the thing that bothered Bruce most was not his peers but the kiss itself. It hadn't meant anything at all and he knew that…but it had felt like _something_. Bruce was far from being and expert on kissing—or feelings in general, but remembering Stark's expression, Bruce knew that he too had felt something out of the ordinary.

Early Monday, Bruce dragged his restless body from his bed and went about his normal morning routine, still half-asleep. He scooped up an apple, floated instinctively to the station, fell asleep on the subway, and made it to school with minutes to spare.

Before he knew it, he was seated in Mr. Smalls' classroom, surrounded by the chatter of kids discussing their delightful weekends. In other words, and as Bruce had expected, Stark's party was the sole thing being discussed, the highlight of all the buzz.

Just before class began, Stark swaggered through the doorway, his classmates emitting wild woops and cheers. Tony paused front and center to take a low bow, grinning from ear to ear.

The sudden applause and increase in volume had caused both Bruce and Mr. Smalls to visibly jump. Mr. Smalls, irritated now, told the students to be quiet unless they wished to take a walk down the hall to visit the principal's office. Knowing that Mr. Smalls would make good on his threat, everyone fell silent.

Tony sat in his normal spot next to Bruce but did not acknowledge him. Bruce tapped his fingers against the table. No response from Tony. Bruce cleared his throat. Still nothing. Fine, if Stark was going to ignore him, Bruce sure as hell wasn't going to exert himself. Bruce crossed his arms and stared forward instead, pretending to pay attention to Mr. Smalls.

As the day ticked on, Bruce began to doubt that Tony would say anything to him whatsoever. He thought that Tony most likely did not want to be seen having a conversation with him, which was to be expected. Bruce supposed Stark did have some type of reputation to keep up with and openly speaking with him would ruin it.

At lunch, Bruce sat by himself at the shadowed table, sketching blueprints for robotic models that he would probably never be able to complete, due to lack of equipment and funds. He was minding his own business. That was until he was disturbed by two of the snotty kids—part of Stark's obnoxious crowd—whom Bruce tended to avoid.

Bruce could sense them looming intrusively over him. He snapped the notebook shut and steered his eyes upward to see unjustified smug smiles plastered across their unintelligent faces. The typical idiot jock look. He recognized them but his mind failed to recall their names. Bruce intently stared right back at them, expressing that he was not in the mood for any bullshit.

"Stark said it would be cool if you come to his party this Friday," the taller of the two said.

"Yeah, like he really wants you to be there," the other one added.

Bruce didn't know what he had expected them to say but this had certainly caught him off-guard. He cleared his throat.

"Why?"

"Because he said so," the tall kid laughed at his question.

"Why would I want to go?" Bruce questioned, suspicious of the motives behind their apparent request from Stark.

"Because it's a private party," the shorter kid said, still smirking. "He gave you an invite."

Frowning, Bruce switched his eyes back and forth between the two, searching for an obvious sign that this was a joke. He could not put his finger on a clear reason. Nevertheless, Bruce still felt as if they were making fun of him.

"Whatever, Barry," the short kid broke the silence, calling Bruce by the wrong name, "just come."

The tall kid reached into the pocket that was on the inside of his varsity jacket and removed his hand, carelessly tossing an envelope onto the table in front of Bruce. After this, he and his friend turned without another word to amble back over to the place where Stark and his posse clowned.

Bruce stuffed the envelope into his backpack, saving it for later. He knew that Tony was most likely watching him, waiting for Bruce to excitedly open the invitation. Bruce did not want it to seem like he was interested in this party so he played it off, nonchalantly returning to the outline in his notebook. Bruce would not fall into the trap of giving Stark any type of satisfaction, however small it may seem.

Despite being given an invitation, Stark made no further attempts to connect with Bruce that week. The invitation was extremely vague (the time and Tony's chic signature were the only things written on it) but printed on thick paper, giving it a sufficient appearance.

By the time Friday night fell upon New York, Bruce found himself readying for the party. Even though he was still highly suspicious about the motive behind him being invited, he did not have anything better to do with his night.

He purposely arrived late, again. Much like the week before, the oversized mansion doors were shut and no sound could be heard on the exterior. Bruce twisted the knob and the bulky doors swung open, effortlessly.

The same robot stood guarding the doorway, making it impossible to sneak inside without being detected. Unlike last time, the polished foyer only held a few people. It was still loud, but much less noisy.

Bruce stated his documented first and last name to the machine, being careful as to correctly annunciate every syllable. Stark would get a kick out of him being humiliated by the artificial intelligence for the second time in a week. The robot moved aside and Bruce entered the mansion, instantly greeted by three boys from his school's popular crowd.

"Hey, Banner," Derek O'Malley began, "have a drink." A bottle appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Bruce accepted the offer, not intending on actually consuming any of it.

"I'm Dean," the boy with strawberry-blonde hair and an assortment of freckles across his nose grinned. "You probably don't know me and Derek, we're juniors."

Bruce knew of Derek but had never actually met him. Derek was the school's star basketball player, carrying the team on to win three championships even though he was only a junior. Bruce did not know of Dean before he had introduced himself but he assumed he and Derek played on the same team. Bruce could tell that they were part of the in-crowd but he did not know much else.

He did however know the third boy—Jake Hawthorne. Hawthorne had ruthlessly bullied Bruce from 5th to 8th grade, making his life even more miserable than it already was. When they had reached high school, Jake stuck mostly with the popular kids, still a horrible human being but rarely bothering Bruce. Jake, who had black hair and dark brown eyes, had egged Tony and Bruce's kiss on the Friday previous.

Bruce nodded to each of them, a nervous smile playing across his lips.

"So, Banner," Jake began in a voice that told Bruce he was at least a little tipsy, "how's life?"

It was a strange question to ask someone you had made dread to come to school every day but Bruce decided to be a good sport and answer it anyway. "It's okay."

"You know what you need?" Dean said, smiling wider, his eyes a glassy red.

"You need a girlfriend!" Derek proclaimed.

"No, just a chick to fuck," Dean rebutted.

"We wanna help you find a chick," Jake told him.

"Thanks," Bruce muttered, still wary and being careful to not sound too abrupt, "but I'm okay."

"What, are you gay or somethin'?" Derek accused.

"No!" Bruce raised his palms, taken aback. He might have responded too quickly to Derek's comment but Bruce did not want to chance any rumors to be spread.

Bruce had never given much thought to his sexuality since he did not believe that anyone would ever want to be in an exclusive relationship with him, anyway. Bruce was very fond of women, he frequently fantasized about them—but the truth was he also considered some men to be attractive. This wasn't a big deal, Bruce was sure that men could think of other men as attractive without being gay. The problem with Bruce was that every once in a while men would make an appearance in his sexual fantasies. Even though Bruce could not deny that he had gay thoughts, the last thing he needed was for his schoolmates to pick on him for allegedly being a homosexual.

"No, I'm not gay," Bruce let out a shaky laugh, trying to compose himself. "I like women."

"OK." Dean slung his arm around Bruce's shoulders and cheered, "Let's go find you a woman!"

Bruce wanted to tell Dean to get off of him because no matter the intent, the gesture was causing Bruce to feel highly uncomfortable. He did not object because he did not want the guys to think that he was the weirdo that everybody thought he was. The three of them continued to drink as they guided Bruce to different areas of the humongous room, rating every girl they passed without asking for Bruce's input.

What surprised Bruce most about the entire situation was that the guys were openly paying him attention—and not the negative kind. Usually someone like Dean or Derek or Jake would either ignore his presence altogether or pursue him for the sole purpose of tormenting him.

The boys drunkenly paraded Bruce around for at least a good 15 minutes until Dean finally let go of the hold he had on Bruce's shoulders. Bruce was able to escape by ducking away while they had their backs turned. He doubted they would notice he was gone as they hadn't said a word to him since they had started searching.

Bruce lightly treaded down the hallway so as to not be noticed, passing rooms that were contained kids indulging in bad habits, some sexual, some not. Bruce wanted to find a dark empty room to sit in, far enough from the foyer that Derek, Jake, and Dean would not be likely to stumble upon him. He had had enough social interaction for one night but he did not want everyone to witness him leaving early after only being there for a half hour.

He was about to give up in his search, to turn around and walk back the way he had come, when someone grabbed him forcefully by the collar. Bruce yelped, startled, as the stranger yanked him into a shadowy room.

As soon as he was inside, the door snapped shut and the lock clicked into place. Bruce was scared—who was this person and what were they planning on doing to him?—but before he could go into a full panic, soft lips met with his open mouth.

Again, Bruce was shocked, he didn't know what to do. The person kept at it, passionately, tasting like alcohol and smelling like Anthony Stark. Bruce could not see, so he could not be sure. Instead of kissing him back, Bruce shoved the guy off of him and reached for the place on the wall where the light switch should be. Whoever it was came back for more but Bruce had successfully located the switch and flicked the light on.

He was standing in a decorated bathroom with his back pressed against the hard marble sink. Standing in front of him was Tony Stark, having the same expression as a child who was caught in the act of doing something that is frowned upon.

They stared at each other, feeling both sexual tension and awkwardness, neither of them knowing what to say.

Finally, Bruce cracked, "I knew it was you."

"I'm drunk." Tony stated, edging towards the door. Bruce stepped in front of it, blocking his only exit.

"Just a tip," Bruce informed him, "abducting someone and dragging them into a dark bathroom to make-out is not pleasing. It's scary."

Tony only glared at him.

"You could ask," Bruce said.

"I'm drunk." Tony stated his excuse again.

Bruce sighed. "Whatever, Tony. I knew it wasn't only me."

Tony's eyes showed that he knew exactly what Bruce was referring to but he did not say anything, his mouth a thin line. Bruce had been overwhelmed enough tonight and he was not in the mood to elaborate.

"I'm going to leave now. Thanks for the invite."

Right before Bruce was about to ditch the rowdy crowd for his preferable quiet space in his own home, a drunk Jake Hawthorne sauntered over to him, a girl trailing in his dilapidated wake.

"Yo, man," he greeted Bruce as if he were a long lost pal, clapping him on the back and beaming happily.

Bruce backed away from his too-friendly touch. Jake continued to grin, perhaps too drunk to notice Bruce's objection.

"This is Trisha and she likes you," Jake nodded his head towards the girl—Trisha, who waved passively at Bruce, a shy smile stretching over her small lips.

Bruce could not help but realize that Trisha was pretty. She was about as tall as he was and her overall figure was slim. She had a pointy nose, wavy blonde hair, nearly flawless skin, and wide brown eyes. Opposite to her tiny waist, her boobs were humongous which Bruce highly approved of.

"Hi," she smiled at him.

Totally dumbfounded, Bruce gawked at Trisha for much longer than he should have before pulling himself together.

"I-I was just leaving," he stuttered. "I have an, uh, stomach ache."

Her face visibly fell but she told him that she would be at Tony's next week and hoped to see him there. Bruce told her he would definitely be there.

As Bruce voyaged home, his hands deep in the front pockets of his scruffy jeans, he could not believe that he had been sucked into attending another one of Tony Stark's dumb parties.

 **Author's Note:** ** _Sorry I took so long to post this, I am unbelievably busy. I have most of the story written but I need to write some fillers so that everything makes sense. I am really trying to finish this but life gets in the way. I apologize for the delay. Anyway, thank you all so much for the reviews, I sincerely appreciate the feedback. Your nice comments serve as my motivators._**


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